


Masterpiece

by fuckyatta



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Surgery, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12647451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyatta/pseuds/fuckyatta
Summary: Sombra gains access to Talons security cameras, granting her access to witness all that goes on within the organizations walls. She soon finds out that it is a heavy burden to carry.





	Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> When you're the first bitch to write any Moira/Widowmaker content and its some creepy shit.
> 
> Left out of Menagerie despite being a one shot, simply because of the nature of the fanfiction and how some people aren't into that, which is totally okay. Rated it explicit just to be safe.
> 
> As always, I love comments and critiques, and you are free to leave one, it's what keeps me motivated to continue writing for you guys.

Unbeknownst to Talon, all it took was a simple flick of the wrist and Sombra had access to the organization's files and security cameras. There had been no real reason, curiosity mostly, or blackmail to be stored for a later date. It did provide mild entertainment on otherwise mundane days, as well. She'd learned about all of Talon's most prized operatives before they'd been properly introduced to her, not that introductions were the company's forte. It took weeks into her contract until she met all of them; Reaper, Widowmaker, Moira, at and a later time she would meet Doomfist.

Her interest fell onto their precious science experiment turned ruthless sniper, Talon's first victim affiliated with the famed Overwatch. It didn't take much digging to find Moira's association with the Widowmaker project. Formally one of Overwatch's leading medical engineers, her funding was cut short after her methods were deemed immoral, later picked up by Blackwatch, then called to by Talon, whom she worked with in secret. Blackwatch gave her that driving push to continue her research, but Talon gave her the bodies necessary to follow up on said research. 

Attached to her file was a series of recordings revolving around the project. Talon had already began the process of assimilating the role they wanted her to play, but for them it hadn't been enough. Through Moira's breakthroughs in human limits they created what they believed to be the perfect sniper. Watching the initial tapes were grueling, they began at the kidnapping and torture of Amelie Lacroix. Eventually Sombra watched them on silent, could not bear sitting through watching a woman cry out for help for hours on end. 

Once Moira's involvement started, everything felt off. Sombra watched in uncomfortable silence as Moira touched every inch of the woman's body, already stripped of life and emotion, seemingly taking in information as she poked and prodded. She spoke to someone off screen, confirmed to be common Talon troops as they appeared in view. The once still woman Moira had been examining flipped like a switch, turning from obedient to furious as the armored men strapped her down atop a surgical table. 

She had thrashed and spitted disgust at the men before her, and Moira just smiled. A needle was forced into her arm, a heavy sedative seeping into her veins and calming her writhing form until she was unconscious. Sombra chooses to skip through the extensive surgery, not particularly interested in the logistics of it all. She'd hear blips of Moira speaking to the camera, glimpses of her displaying pieces of technology that later she would implement into the tissue of her heart and lunges. Sombra hypothesized that Moira was explaining their purposes and how they operated, but Sombra could find that out through blueprints, not finding it necessary to see the real life equivalents, nor the squeamish surgery that went with it. 

Her interest piqued after it, with tapes documenting Widowmaker's process with her newly received implants. Moira appointed herself as the assassins therapist, observing her emotional state and attempting to spur reactions from her. Generally each session played out the same, but on same days Widowmaker would request things, for possessions of her own. 

_A tattoo?_

_Yes, I would like one._

_And why is that? Why you want one?_

The recording went silent, and though the camera faced Widowmaker, Moira could be seen poking into view as she leaned forward in her chair, a strange wonderment in her tone as she spoke to the woman on screen. The woman, now turned cyaonic due to her augmentations and stoic as ever, contemplated her answer before giving it. 

_I don't know._

Moira logged her discovery in a later tape, documenting Widowmakers desire for things of her own, kept a list of whatever it may be that she asked for. She decided that her wants would be granted, though minimal. 

The tapes thinned out, reaching a point where the last session was months ago. All in all it hadn't taken long to peruse to the end. Files of Moira's research on Reaper surfaced in her search, but ultimately they would pan out the same way, and Sombra passed on them, deciding it insignificant. 

Sombra hadn't felt like she was breaching privacy until she watched the live feed of the security camera littered throughout the base, specifically the channel watching over Widowmaker's quarters, though Sombra would consider it more of a cell. She was just curious to see if the sniper who sought pleasure through killing wasn't putting on a show. Instantly her question had been answered, it was almost mesmerizing how she barely moved it all. Sombra almost believed the footage was frozen until Widowmaker snapped her head to one corner of the room, a bookcase holding her possessions.

Her stride was slow, calculated, stalking towards the bookcase and taking a book from the shelves, then sat down on her bed cross legged and book in her lap, though strange as it had appeared she wasn't opening the book, simply staring at the cover, fingers feeling the indentation of the title. It made Sombra feel uneasy, like she was intruding. 

Later, she would formally situate herself with the assassin. Just as Moira had done in their sessions, Sombra would attempt to provoke a reaction out of the woman, not in the name of research, but to perhaps make a friend. It proved frivolous, the most she got out of her was a side glance, most times nothing at all. Despite of it, they worked well together, their specific skill sets working in tandem with one another, and Talon teamed them together often.

Eventually Sombra managed to pick away cracks from Widowmaker's walls, could pull a quip or two from her if the time was right. And just like the files had said, it was easiest after a mission, after a successful kill and her blood ran warmest and she sat smug inside the aircraft carrier. Sombra would sit beside her, nudge at her arm and compliment her handiwork. Widowmaker would offer her a smile, proud of her prowess, and if Sombra was careful she could pry her for information, things she had already known but did so to establish a friendship. Without causes suspicion Sombra made small talk about her tattoos.

_Why'd you get em? Little cheesy don't you think?_

Widowmaker's eyes drifted down to the tattoo on her arm, thumb tracing the web wrapped around her. 

_I like them._

Quiet days on the base result in the assassin locking herself inside her room however, and Sombra didn't wish to impose. Didn't mean she couldn't check up on her from time to time through the security cameras, though. While she mindlessly scoured the internet for dirt on powerful people she kept the feed at the corner of her screen, occasionally just watching the woman sit in her room, still as a statue. It never ceased to keep Sombra on edge, for someone who appeared human to completely freeze, like an off switch. 

It would go on for days at a time, almost, with just minute movements from the assassin. Sombra is sure she must move when her eyes wander off the screen or when she finally passes out, but then she looks back up and she's exactly where she was. Sombra wonders if she eats at all. 

Then one restless night, there's movement, and Sombra sits straight up, eyes on the feed. Widowmaker has turned her head to face the door of her room, and if one hadn't been watching her for days on end they wouldn't have seen the way her hands curl into the blanket atop her bed, but it does not go unnoticed by Sombra.

Moira appears on the feed, and Widowmaker does not turn up to look at her, instead eyes upturned. The scientist is dressed casually, slacks, button up shirt and tie, what she normally wore on days she wasn't on the field. Her right hand has turned a sickly purple, most likely due to her self experimentation, and it raises, cups Widowmaker's chin and lifts her face, looks down at her with a strange devotion. 

And for a long moment Moira looks at Widowmaker, her experiment, long finger nails digging into the woman's cheek. Sombra shifts in her spot, the same uncomfortableness from when she watched the tapes seeping back into her. She feels the need to look away, turn off the feed and pretend she never witnessed any of what is happening, but something inside herself forces herself to look anyways. 

Moira joins Widowmaker on her bed, kneeling in front of her. Despite the high quality of the security cameras, they are not equipt with sound, but from the angle it appears Moira is speaking to Widowmaker, and though the woman before her does not humor her with a response, the scientist is smiling down at her, now both hands clasping Widowmaker's face. She leans in for a chaste kiss, and when she pulls away she whispers something against her mouth before kissing her again. 

Hands at Widowmaker's cheeks lower, wrap around her neck for a small moment before delving underneath latex, stretching the material above her hands splayed against the assassin's collar bones. Slowly they push away the fabric off her shoulders, and Moira helps with removing the entirety of the uniform, Widowmaker seemingly gone limp, like a rag doll for the scientist's own personal use, and an acidic taste burns at the back of Sombra's throat at the notion, watches the way Moira poses Widowmaker down onto the bed with such delicacy one would have a porcelain doll. 

Inch by inch the latex is peeled away, Widowmaker now on her back, knees up, and Moira takes great care in lifting up her hips just enough to remove the material away from her ample backside, nails digging into soft flesh once it's left bare. Then the suit is pulled down her thighs, snag on her boots but they are left on, (Sombra isn't sure if they are boots or prosthetics, never seen her without them to know) hem of the suit tearing at the sharp kneecap as they are pulled past them.

Widowmaker's eyes are trained to the ceiling, unmoving, as now her naked body was put on display for her doctor. Moira looked to her one would at an emotional piece of work, adoringly, proud of what she herself created. She speaks, and this time it is short enough that Sombra can make out the words. 

_My masterpiece._

Hands pet up her thighs, Sombra spots ink across Widowmaker's outer thigh, and she feels sick for having to find out about it this way. With a gentle persuasion, Moira convinces her subject to spread her legs so she may sit more comfortably between them, and Sombra is at least grateful that the last bit of Widowmaker's integrity is obscured to her view. 

Lips cover every inch of her bare skin, from her elegant jaw down to the backs of her thighs, long nails following in their wake. The time it takes for her kisses to travel is arduous, Moira takes her time showering her body in affection. Her touches are feather light, do not dare move past that in fear for damaging any part of her perfection. 

Moira looms over Widowmaker, and Sombra dreads what more she might witness. The nails of Moira's left hand are shorter than those of her right, but still long enough that when her hand is now concealed between Widowmakers legs, and long legs twitch for just a fraction of a second, Sombra's own legs tense, a cringing shudder running through her spine. 

Sombra watches the way Widowmaker's hands shake, tense and flex, how her jaw clenches. Her mouth opens, a stuttering breath leaving her that Sombra is certain isn't one of pleasure. Just as soon as it begun, it's over. Moira withdraws her hand, wipes is across Widowmaker's leg and stands. Moira speaks, Sombra is unable to decipher it, and then she leaves the room, leaving Widowmaker alone. Concern rushes through Sombra the longer Widowmaker simply lies there, staring up at the ceiling. 

It feels as though a century passes but finally, the woman moves. Though it doesn't calm Sombra's nerves, not when Widowmaker curls into herself, knees pressed to her chest and arms over her face, hands gripping into her own hair, knuckles turning white and Sombra is sure she's pulled hairs. Sombra cannot will herself to watch any longer, shuts off her monitor completely and simply stares into the darkness of her room until exhaustion creeps up and she falls asleep. 

It would be several days before Sombra saw Widowmaker again, the two whisked away to Oasis to act as watch dogs for Moira as she collected data from her lab stationed there. And where normally Sombra could crack a few smiles from her fellow teammate, this time was different. Now she wouldn't even look at her, eyes trained ahead of her as she scouted for potential threats, deathly silent. It's unsettling, Sombra separates herself from the assassin, says she'll be scouting on ahead, but she doesn't see her again until they return to the aircraft. 

As per usual, Sombra sits beside her. A cautious hand places itself to Widowmaker's leg, and purple eyes are staring into icy gold. It looks as though Widowmaker is about to speak, then acrylic nails are brushing against her, and she physically recoils. Sombra is quick to take her hands off of Widowmaker and as far away as possible. 

_Have you been alright, amiga? You've been on edge._

_Don't touch me._

The rest of the ride is quiet, the thrum of the aircraft droning out and filling the empty space. Sombra doesn't try to push her further. 

Still, it's a force of habit to keep the security camera feed atop her monitor. She drowns herself in her work, doesn't bother watching the camera. She's caught a lead on Katya Volskaya, and she distracts herself with research. An off glance to the top corner of her screen however, and she sees the same scene she saw days ago, striking red hair amidst a sea of blue, and instantly she is turning off her monitor, not caring about lost progress, she could make it up later. She couldn't stomach a second showing. 

One quick search and she answers a question on her mind. Talon does not keep records of their security cameras. It's absurd, really, Talon far too up their own asses and believing it unnecessary and a waste of resources. What was the point of the security cameras, even. She wonders how long Moira's visits have been going on, and now it seems she'll never get an answer for it. 

And then the infiltration of Volskaya Industries happens. A botched mission for Talon, but a new friend for Sombra. She is sure Gabriel and Widowmaker knew of her plan, at least now. Gabriel is moping in the farthest corner of the ship, smoking tendrils encasing his hunching form, and now Widowmaker sits seats away from her, and Sombra gives her space. Still she keeps a casual air around herself, not wanting to draw suspicion even if they do know. 

Widowmaker is debriefing back to the higher ups where she sits. Her voice is calm, collected as ever, but Sombra still sees the signs of worry worming it's way through Widowmaker's form. Her muscles are tense, a heel clicks against the steel floor rhythmically, a hand runs through her hair, adjusting her high pony tail. She missed her shot, and while Sombra nor Reaper could either, she was Talon's pet project, their project that malfunctioned during a high risk high reward mission. 

When they return to base Moira is awaiting them along with armored guards. They do not greet them as they exit, instead whisking Widowmaker away. The troops are all but kind with her, hands grabbing at her and forcing her along with them despite her easy compliance. Moira is beside her, speaking medical jargon, and Sombra attempts to hide the way her heart sinks at the sight. Gabriel stands with her for a long moment, emotions unreadable through his mask, but his silence speaks volumes. He manifests into smoke, billowing past her without a word. 

Days later, a new recording appears in Moira's file, hesitation pulls at Sombra, begging for her to ignore her curiosity. It is a losing battle, the video enlarging on her screen and loading up. There appears to be no introduction for this one, instead starting right away with Widowmaker strapped up to an examination table. A large y incision is cut across her front, like that of a coroner performing an autopsy, like the woman she cut open was a corpse.

Moira discusses the reasons for medical examination, main point being a tuning to Widowmaker's augmentations to enhance performance, a whole lot of bullshit to excuse opening her up for a mistake. A gloved hand reaches inside the incision, the wet noise far too much for Sombra, who instantly mutes the video. Skin is peeled back to reveal a shockingly white rib cage, and to Sombra's disbelief the ribs pull back, like some sort of mechanism, giving Moira easy access to Widowmaker's modified heart. Then to her rising horror, just as easy as it had been to open up her rib cage, she picks up the woman's heart with both hands, lifting it out and in view of the camera.

Along with it are arteries the pull up with it. The poor thing pumps pathetically in the woman's hands as Sombra assumes Moira is speaking to the camera. Sombra holds back a gag as she squeezes it rather forcefully, waits a few moments to release it, then repeats the process, as if manually resetting the speed at which it pumps. With a motherly gentleness it's placed back inside the woman's chest. Sombra thinks that's the worst of it, but then Moira is picking up the scalpel, and the camera is moved to an over top view and Sombra closes the video before an incision is made in the heart. 

Returning to the security feed, Widowmaker is lying stock still on her bed. Multiple times a day Moira will visit her. Instead of her catsuit, Widowmaker is dressed in Talon regulated sleep wear, (Sombra wonders why she hadn't worn them before) making it easy for Moira to reach underneath Widowmaker's shirt, palm flat against her skin and riding her shirt upwards until the woman's breasts are in view. The hand rests between them, with her other hand Moira takes notes, supposedly observing Widowmaker's recovery. 

But Sombra knows different, can see the way her hand stokes at the skin, knows it's anything but professional, knows because hours later she will be subjected to the same show she's witnessed twice before. Already Widowmaker never left her room, but now there was no excuse to leave with her now bedridden from surgery, and with that fact it seems Moira has more of an excuse to assault her experiment. It makes Sombra sick, disgust building like bile in her throat, angry at Moira, angry at herself for never intervening. 

It goes on for days, a week almost. Moira's visits are daily, now, and Sombra keeps the feed up at all times on her monitor. Once it hits a week, though, she becomes careless, eyes wandering for just a second too long, then suddenly Widowmaker is no where to be seen in her room. Sombra's heart leaps in her throat, eyes wildly scouring the feed in case she somehow missed her, but she isn't there. Hands fly to the keyboard, clicking through every channel in hopes she could catch a glance of her, hoping nothing truly horrible happened while her guard was down.

Relief washes over her when she finds her on channel 28, the outdoor firing range. There is a light drizzle, so no one is out there but Widowmaker. She is looking through her scope, legs spread as she steadied her stance. For a moment Sombra simply watches her, but seconds pass to minutes, and Widowmaker hasn't fired a shot. Sombra worries the feed has frozen, but she sees a minute shift in weight, and dread fills back in Sombra once more. She runs a hand through her hair, sighs before standing up. She's sick of watching this drag on, and before leaving her room she makes sure to remove her gloves.

Which leads to now, Sombra's hair now wet from rain as she stands at the firing range's gate. She makes sure what she saw wasn't a trick of the light, and it wasn't, Widowmaker hasn't moved from her spot, hasn't fired since she got there. 

"Hey." 

Sombra regrets even speaking, because the simple act startles Widowmaker, her signature rifle dropping to the ground with a dull clank. Widowmaker whips around, golden eyes wide and staring straight at Sombra, though her face is expressionless, has Sombra on edge. 

There is a pregnant pause before Widowmaker speaks. "Why are you here."

Sombra shifts, attempts casualness but leaning against the gate, metal cold on her back. "Thought I could give my favorite spider a visit."

Widowmaker's next response isn't so slow. "How did you know I was here."

Now it was Sombra's turn to consider her next few words. She thought to lie, but even if Widowmaker fell for it, which was unlikely, she was here for a reason, and honesty felt best at the moment. "I have access to the security cameras. I always know where you are, amiga." 

The implication of her statement sinks in, the assassin's eyebrows furrowing for just a second too long before returning neutral. 

Sombra sees it nonetheless. Guilt claws at her, but she ignores it's sharp talons digging into her, now was not the time to feel sorry for herself. "How long has this been going on?" Sombra treads lightly, and when she doesn't receive an answer she tries again, voice hushed despite no one else there to hear her. "Do you like when she touches you?" 

Widowmaker turns away from her, kneeling down to retrieve her rifle. As always, her voice lacks emotion. "I do not _like_ anything, I was not programmed to."

"You like your tattoos."

A pause, Widowmaker gives her rifle a once over, looking for scratches. "That is different."

Now Sombra doesn't hold herself back, instantly firing back, "How is it different."

"Sombra..."

"I want to know how it's different-"

"Sombra."

"Because I can help you if-" Sombra is slammed up against the metal gate, cold wire digging into her back and a forearm pressed to her throat. Golden eyes are looming over her, and now her expression is clear as day; furious, brows upturned, jaw clenched. She doesn't dare speak again, waits for Widowmaker to break the silence. 

When she finally does, her expression has softened, and she's pushed herself away. Her voice is small, vulnerable. "Everything has been taken away from me, Talon is all I have."

"Talon was the one who took everything away from you."

Widowmaker pushes her away from the gate so she may exit the firing range. She doesn't give a response, likely doesn't have one, leaving Sombra alone in the rain. She supposes she won't ever get a solid answer for this, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Sombra was written 69 times in this fanfiction, you're welcome.


End file.
